


when you open your eyes it's like

by nastyboy



Category: Ava's Demon
Genre: Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 05:27:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15017639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nastyboy/pseuds/nastyboy
Summary: Now, Gil sits, invalid I.D. badge clutched in his hand hard enough to leave a line of lavender bruised parallel to the deep crease of his heart line while he stares into the depths of space. He sure if he looked in a mirror there would be deep hollows slung under his eyes, stark against his pallid skin. His eyes would be red-rimmed with a lack of sleep and the need to cry. The ship is still, bathed in dim neons, and the blue tint to them almost reminds him of the natural glow of home if he closes his eyes. Yet, he only seems to be drifting further and further from blessed sleep.orIn which Gil Marverde isnotokay





	when you open your eyes it's like

The inability to sleep is unfamiliar to Gil.

Nevy has always been around to lure him into unconsciousness with the soothing lilt of her gentle soprano, like waves breaking over a rock face as she sang for him. But, now, she is not here.

Now, Gil sits, invalid I.D. badge clutched in his hand hard enough to leave a line of lavender bruised parallel to the deep crease of his heart line while he stares into the depths of space. He sure if he looked in a mirror there would be deep hollows slung under his eyes, stark against his pallid skin. His eyes would be red-rimmed with a lack of sleep and the need to cry. The ship is still, bathed in dim neons, and the blue tint to them almost reminds him of the natural glow of home if he closes his eyes. Yet, he only seems to be drifting further and further from blessed sleep. 

As sleep evades him, Gil becomes exceedingly aware of the feeling of something missing. Nevy. Nevy is missing. There is no softly sung tune or tired hum or pitched giggle. There isn’t even the nearly inaudible fwooo pip of bubbles being blown and popped. Gil can’t remember a time when his surrounds were ever this silent— _she’s always been there_. He pries his eyes open, unsure when be close them, flinching against the insistent sting of tears he probably won’t shed. The sky looks milky, saturated with stars upon stars as the ship flies through the void towards who knows where. It looks lonely out there, as if it’s reflecting what Gil’s feeling, reflecting the dark pit where his soul used to be. Where Nevy used to be.

 _Lonely, but not alone,_ Gil thinks because, though the ship is too quiet for his sensibilities, he is not alone.

A glance over his shoulder shows Odin, laying on his back, fingers laced over his chest. If someone were to place a flower under his hands, he’d look identical to a corpse with the swipes of discoloration bruised under his eyes and his deathly pale skin. There is a subtle rise and fall to his chest, proof that he’s living. It makes Gil more relieved than it should, especially since he’s not trustworthy and he brought _Ava_ with them. Gil eyes her where she’s curled up tight, like she isn’t allowed to take more space, except for one tiny hand that is stretching towards the doorway— _towards Maggie_. Maggie, who had sat herself as far away from Gil as possible, without out loosing sight of him, before nodding off. He glances between them for a moment, curious what could’ve brought them to this point. His gaze catches on— 

Ava’s glasses. The ones that let her _see_ Nevy, even though _no one else had_. 

Gil is across the room before he can stop himself. The goggles are cast in different hues of green by the blue tint of the room, almost sickly in color, but they are obviously the same cat eye, wire framed glass that Ava had been wearing earlier. The metal is thin and hot against his soft palm, not enough to burn, but definitely enough to sting as Gil delicately picks them up and unfolds them. There is shuffling to his left, and Gil can see Odin sitting up in his periphery as he oh-so-carefully brings the glasses up to his face. Gil thinks he hears Odin whisper something--

"Those a-are-aren't y-yours."

\--but Gil doesn't really hear it as he slips the glasses on his face. Static is filling his ears as all of his senses shrink except for his sight, which seems to clarify tenfold. Gil glances over his own shoulders, hoping and praying that Nevy will be there, that Ava just made her invisible somehow, that he just needed a little help to see, but there’s nothing. He is greeted only by the forlorn glance of space through the window. For a moment Gil thinks he’s started crying, but when he wipes his face an odd navy sludge comes off on his fingers. His brow furrows because that doesn’t seem right, and he pushes the glasses up, wiping his face with both hands this time.

Odin speaks again as Gil turns back to face him. 

"I s-said those ar-aren’t yours. T-take th-them off." Odin says, expression schooled in an attempt to be stern, but falling just short at pitiful. Gil feels anger well up in him at that because he doesn’t think Ava, who destroyed an entire recruitment center full of innocents, deserves human decency, even from Odin. Before he can think up a properly indignant response the glasses slip off his silky hair to settle onto his nose again, and Gil can only gape. 

There's something morbidly beautiful about Odin in this moment, like the solemnity of a funeral and the freshness after a gruesome death. It's just Odin, shoulders back and spine straight, but there is red everywhere. Not spilt and messy like blood, but blocky and clean like satin ribbons. They run over and over his torso in thick, sharp squares, it somehow seems like there is and isn’t a pattern at the same time. They stretch up his neck, yet end before his face. There’s a crimson glow cast from them, and it throws Odin’s features into a grim relief. 

Behind him is someone or something that fills that aching emptiness in Gil with fear, hurt, and a pang of strangely familiar longing that feels much too versed for him. He is tall and lean, and postures like royalty, like he is undeniably important. There is a pull in his shoulders that makes him look regal even with a sad, off white spaceship wall as the backdrop. In his face, that is more skull than flesh, though there is no expression to be found, Gil can see exasperation and exhaustion. His eyes are rubies, locked with Gil’s, and an iridescent pink in color. He isn’t touching Odin, but it feels like he is, like that hand is cupped gently around Odin’s soul. Gil is struck with the image of an old, old painting where a king has his hand on his queen's shoulder, a subtle gesture of power, of control.

It's like looking at a painting of monarchs.

Gil thinks of Nevy, how she was curled around his soul just the same, though she’s much softer than this royal appears to be.

Gil eyes drift down as a tiny, fuchsia dragonfly flits past his vision then down to twirl around Odin. Odin, who is frowning at Gil. Odin, whose frown is emphasized by a ghoulish red glow. Odin, who upsets Gil’s balance _so easily_. Gil frowns back, irate with himself for caring about Odin’s feelings in the first place (for making Odin look like that). Gil averts his eyes, hoping that the yearning echo from the cavern in him will go away if he ignores it. 

His eyes fall on Ava, though it doesn't look like Ava at all. It looks like a being made of searing, burning, carnage. She's red hot with oranges and yellows, casting a glow like when Ava's anger spikes. Her entire body is made of sharpness and edges, even the lava flow of her hair. Her eyes are closed, but she doesn't look peaceful in her sleep like most, she looks pensive with an idle aggression. Strangely, as Gil looks at her, he feels like he knows her, and the Nevy shaped hole in him reflects that same longing for something he doesn't quite understand.

There's a vulnerability about her, not from herself but from the position, the position _Ava_ fell asleep in, a loose fetal curl with one hand outstretched as if she's reaching for someone. That feeling solidifies in his gut, like he wants her to long for him, but that's ridiculous, he doesn't even trust her anymore why would he...? He shakes it off, situating himself on his knees as his eyes trail further away from Odin, who is trying to get his attention again.

On Ava's far side, huddled in the doorway like she wants to leave but can't let herself, is Maggie, Gil knows, but through these strange lenses he sees the sorrowful stillness of a forest just after dawn, when the birds have yet to wake and there is no breeze rustling through the canopy. It is such a delicate feeling for such an oafish creature. He has his knees up and his chin to his chest, exactly as Maggie was when she fell asleep, but he is twice her size, and it seems as if he'll never be as small as he desires. There are leaves curling down from his neck Gil is familiar with, they’re the same one that fell from Maggie’s hair when she admitted her lies earlier, except they aren’t the familiar, virident green Gil associates with Maggie. They’re red.

Gil tilts his head down to his chest, looking above the glasses so he can see Maggie's small face, torn in anguish even as she dreams. The tilt of their brows are the same, though the creature’s frown is much deeper, worn into his skin with time. 

Odin speaks again, and Gil's gaze darts over against his will. His breath leaves him because Odin is closer, sitting forward so he is in Gil’s personal space. Gil knows that they are the same height standing, but on their knees like this Odin can easily loom over him, and he does. One hand lifts to cup Gil’s cheek while the other pushes the glasses up onto his head again. Odin schools his face into something closer to neutral, but there are wrinkles set around Odin’s frown that keeps his face looking distraught, even though Gil is sure there isn’t much of a difference between their ages.

“What are you doing?” Gil hisses, though his body doesn’t do more than flinch a bit as both of Odin’s thumbs sweep over his cheeks.

Odin doesn’t say anything, just furrows his brow as he cleans the goo off of Gil. Gil almost wishes he had left it alone because it could have hidden the flush in his cheeks, at least somewhat. Instead Gil watches as Odin notices the lavender flush growing darker and darker on the apple of his cheeks, eyes flicking from Gil’s cheeks to his eyes to his lips then back to his eyes. Gil lets out a soft breath as for one surreal moment Odin seems to shift closer, and he can see that while his eyes are dark enough to reflect an endless void, they aren’t black. Purple shines in them when the light hits them just right, and it makes the red of his pupils especially pretty, like the eyes of his shadow. Gil’s eyes flit over Odin’s shoulder, though he knows that he won’t see anything without the glasses. Their gazes catch again, and Gil finds it hard to breath with Odin this close, but his body doesn’t know how to do anything besides flush. Gil blinks, scrunching his eyes shut, and when he opens them Odin is sitting back as if he hadn’t shifted closer in the first place. Odin seems to take mercy on him after a handful of silent moments. 

“Cleaning.” Odin says. He sits back further to wipe his fingers on a torn piece of cloth. It looks like it could be from Ava’s skirt, but Gil doesn’t think much on it. He’s distracted by Odin taking his hands and cleaning the sludge from them like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Odin’s palms are big and square so Gil’s settles nicely in them. They are calloused. Gil can’t tell what the callouses are from, but he can tell they are old, that Odin has probably had them since he was young. 

“Why?” he says. 

“We d-don’t know wuh-what that stuff is.” 

“That,” _doesn’t matter_ , he wants to say, but the hostility drains from him as he concedes, “makes sense.”

“Mm,” Odin hums. For a moment Gil is reminded of Nevy, of her melodic voice, and he thinks that it would pair well with Odin’s before he remember who and where and how he is. He rips his hands away from Odin, but his body stays planted with their knees pressed together, enjoying the closeness without his permission. Odin stares at Gil, looking over his eyes and the smudges under them, and, for a slightest moment, his lips again. His gaze lingers just long enough that Gil knows it was purposeful, but he doesn’t blush when he’s caught. He just meets Gil’s gaze, and waits. 

Gil wants to be angry, but he feels so lost and so unsure of everything and he _misses_ Nevy with every cell in his body and that strange longing is pulsing in time with his heartbeat as blood rushes to his face and it feels like it’s all he can think about and he’s too frazzled to care as he leans forward.

Gil isn’t impulsive by nature. He’s dedicated his life to TITAN, and he doesn’t let himself have frivolous little things, but TITAN has scorned him and Nevy is gone, so Gil’s mind is numb with this decision. He thinks fleetingly that this was a bad decision as his nose smushes into Odin’s uncomfortably before their lips can even make contact, and his face suffuses violently violet, like a bulb blooming into a flower. Gil can feel a nervous sweat breaking out over his forehead, and he kind of wants to scream. He keeps his eyes firmly shut, face pinched as he moves to sit back on his heels again, but his face is caught in gentle hands, and cradled like something precious. Gil’s eyes snap open while Odin joins their lips in the sweetest, softest kiss. They part with a quiet _chu_ , and Odin opens his eyes. 

“Is that what you wanted?” He whispers, and Gil suddenly feels hypersensitive.

Without having to look he knows exactly where Ava and Maggie are in the room, he can hear the deep pattern of Maggie’s breaths and Ava’s soft snuffles. The ship around them doesn’t make a sound as it works, only the barely there vibrations of the engine under their knees tells them they aren’t just floating aimlessly through space. Gil can feel the press of space from every angle around them, and the brush of his clothes against his skin, and the placement of his tongue in his mouth, and the air as it filters through the ship and brushes along any exposed skin. The glow of the room glints in Odin’s eyes like stars, and it isn’t as pretty as actual stars in the sky— but it comes pretty damn close, if Gil’s being honest.

The warmth of Odin’s hands burn along his jaw, finger tips searing where they press into the tender skin of his neck. Gil’s heart is thundering in his ribcage, and Odin must feel it fluttering in his jugular. He is acutely aware of Odin’s breath fanning over his lips, and the tiny, _tiny_ distance between them. His fingers dig into Odin’s thighs where Gil had balanced himself as he leaned forward, bitten nails blunting against the fabric of his pants.

Gil only just remembers that Odin asked him a question, and he nods. Odin nods as well, but it seems to be more to himself. He tilts Gil’s head again, daring to press a little harder with the next kiss. Gil reciprocates, letting himself fall into the push and pull of their lips. It somehow feels familiar though Gil knows he’s never kissed anyone before. He’s wanted to, but he hasn’t let himself— until now.

Gil sinks into Odin, trading breaths and caresses playfully like catching fireflies on a summer night. The air is humid and sticky and every breath feels heavy in Gil’s lungs. His chest is brushing Odin’s whenever they break apart for a breather, and Gil is distantly aware that he climbed onto Odin’s lap at some point, that his legs are spread over Odin’s thighs and his hands are clenched in the back of Odin’s shirt. The fabric is wrinkling under his fingers as he grips tighter and tighter, heat swelling in his chest the longer they kiss. 

It rapidly overwhelms Gil, and he pulls back. 

Gil keeps his eyes closed, and stays close, but his hands slide around Odin’s waist, ticklishly light, to settle on his pecs. Odin lets his hands trail down Gil’s shoulder then his arms, falling into the crook of his elbows. With his first deep breath Gil feels light headed, oxygen flooding his system in a rush. The world tilts, and Gil only realizes he was falling backwards when Odin’s arms move to support him, catching him in surprise. 

Gil frowns, and says the first thing that comes to.mind, “Does yours have a name?” 

“My…?” Odin trails off. Gil doesn’t look at him, but he does open his eyes, head tilted back to stare into the ceiling.

“Your Nevy.” Gil says, succinctly. Odin stays quiet, but Gil can picture the frown twisting.his features because that answer didn’t explain anything.

“He’s over your shoulder, because that’s where he fits. Your left, never your right. He looks like death, but not in the way you do, _like you’re dying_ , but in the way Ava looks like lava— it’s what she is. He’s a part of you, a part of your soul, and he always has been for as long as you can remember. He doesn’t say much, not because he doesn’t have anything to say, but because he doesn’t know the exact way to say it.” Gil doesn’t know where the words are coming from, but he can’t really stop them. He feels a little ridiculous, a little _absolutely batshit_ , still pressed up against Odin, but leaning back to be nearly upside down as he vomits out sentence after sentence about someone he doesn't know, and, frankly, doesn’t trust. “He seems so different from Nevy. He seems quieter, less needy, more distanced, less clingy, but I’ve always thought she was a reflection of me so he might be a reflection of you, if he is than the differences make sense. I don’t know you, but I _know_ him. Or Nevy knows him, knows how he… He’s so familiar, like rainy nostalgia, but it doesn’t have that sugary coat to it. It’s just bitter memories of golden days as I wish for something, or hope for something, or want for something.” 

Gil takes a breath, chest expanding out then caving in.

“Pedri.”

“What?”

“Hi-his name i-is Ped-Pedri.” Odin says. 

Gil comes up for air, the room moving too quickly as he straightens so he can look at Odin. He’s gasping, and Odin won’t make eye contact with him. His brows are furrowed deep, the crevice between them like it’s own canyon, carved by years of dismay. 

“Pedri.” Gil repeats, the word tasting of stability and destruction as it rolls off his tongue.

**Author's Note:**

> can i get uuuuuhhhhhh one order of unloading every feeling i've ever felt onto my fave characters?
> 
> i was having a lot of emotions and it was this or something significantly less good for me, so shrug. also i'm not caught up with the comic so don't @ me, thnx


End file.
